Never Let Go
by ceruleanvixen
Summary: It's a different world now. Elena is a vampire. What does this mean for her feelings towards Damon? And for his feelings towards her? How Season 4 should start, if I had anything to say about it. Damon/Elena. Oneshot


_A/N: Soooo… yeah so this is my first and only ever attempt at writing an M rated story. I gave it a shot because of the amazing encouragement (read: incessant badgering) of my very dear friends Ash, Kaisa and Amy. I love them all to death, so girls, this is for you. Also, if you don't like this, now you know who to blame. And this would have never been what it is now, if it hadn't been for the support, encouragement and input from the incredible Ny who is probably already sick of this story from having had to talk about it so much and who is my rock in this writing game in general, so if you actually like this, now you know who to address your gratitude to ;) This was a very interesting experience for me. I'm glad I did it. And now you can all shut up and stop pestering me about it :P Love u all!_

_P.S.: Obviously I don't own the Vampire Diaries. I mean… obviously. This would have pretty much happened in episode two otherwise._

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**NEVER LET GO**

It has been days, maybe weeks, probably months, but who is counting. Time has stopped mattering. The worst part is over, too; the fighting to the bone, where both brothers ended up on the floor, bleeding, needing a break – not because they were exhausted but because they had torn too many muscles to keep moving. And with the fighting, everything else had stopped; the arguments, the insults, the constant attribution of blame and most other forms of communication. It seemed like they had simply grown tired of it. It was clear that neither of them was giving in, that neither of them was leaving. Yes, they had promised each other they would, but Damon had also made another promise and until she told him to go, he couldn't make his feet walk away, even now.

The worst part is over for her as well; the intense blood lust, the sheer unbearable need to feed. Caroline has been the one to help her, after she had pushed both brothers away. Who would have thought? Bubbly, obnoxious, intense Caroline was the best thing that could have happened to Elena. As impatient as she was with everyone else, she would wait forever next to Elena, holding her until she calmed down again, until the shaking subsided. She was strong enough to hold her back when she was about to lose her mind, but young enough to remember exactly how painful and exhilarating those first blood rushes really were. And the best part was that she did it for no other reason than because they were friends and they helped each other, always had always would. How was this different from when Elena had helped her through years and years of math-lessons, or how they had sat at Bonnie's bed side for weeks after she had broken her leg skiing, or how Bonnie listened to their endless stories about boy troubles? It wasn't. So now there was blood involved, big deal. Caroline for one wasn't going to be squeamish about it. Of course Elena had fought hard, had even considered to not turn. She had had lengthy discussions about it with Bonnie and Caroline, not the brothers, and had finally decided to complete the transition when Bonnie had brought Jeremy; Jeremy who had pleaded with her to not leave him alone. And Caroline, even though she understood Elena's hesitation, understood it so well because she knew what would come next and knew what it meant to live this life, was certain that she had made the right choice. She had been confident that they could get Elena through the rough part together and that she, too, would come out stronger on the other side. And she was also quite certain that Jeremy would have gone mad had he lost his sister in addition to everyone else. All the things everyone said, about how they were dead, how they were not the same people anymore, how they were things, an abomination of nature; while Caroline understood those arguments and they seemed to hold true for some, she didn't think they held true for herself and she didn't think they would for Elena. And so she had been there for her friend, had helped her through the first time, handing her the blood bag, helping her to steady her erratic breathing afterwards, brushing away the tears that fell in the end. She had taught her to control the eating of the cold blood and then had been with her when Matt had offered her his wrist. She had talked Elena through the two days of self-loathing at the idea of wanting to bite her friend and then she had steadied her when they were sitting at his kitchen table, his arm laid out in front of her and Elena's eyes, darkened now, focused on the blue lines beckoning her from under his fragile skin.

They've survived all this together and it is over now and she can go out again with her friends, like she had before, can be amongst people and not be tortured by it and yes, she still has moments in which everything crumbles around her and she locks herself inside her room and cries endlessly, but they are becoming less and less frequent and generally she acknowledges that there is still good she can do and that she is able to stop herself from doing the bad she craves.

They have been hearing whispers of a new danger coming to Mystic Falls. And while normally they are always the last to know about any impending doom, this time it seems the news has reached them in advance. It had been Jeremy's idea, to have everyone move into the Salvatore house and so they have given it to him and he and Elena have taken up residence there and it is now, ironically, the human in the house who makes the three vampires feel safe.

It was then that it started. Elena had distanced herself so much from the brothers, that Damon was expecting her to be a roommate at most, probably a quite unwilling one. And so it was, for the most part. She spent most of her time with Jeremy, Bonnie and Caroline. They are having visitors constantly now and it is driving Damon a little insane. Visitors are fine as long as they are compelled into silence and, preferably, edible. These are neither. And therefore his days are filled with girlish laughter and whispers and he hates it. Stefan is gone for the most part, probably equally unable to deal with the proximity and simultaneous distance of the girl they loved. And so they had lived, room-mates, all under the same roof, but not really sharing their lives. The only reason they are all still there, Damon assumes, is because of stubbornness, possibly habit, and, he recognizes when he's no longer able to fool himself, hope. Still.

Damon has been spending most of his days in the library, reading books and Gilbert journals, trying to find anything that might seem threatening to an original vampire family but always coming up short and therefore always resigning himself to drinking at some point. He didn't understand it at first, felt the slight breeze, felt the presence and then the absence and didn't know what to make of it. It only happened late at night in the parlor at first, when his brain was tired from reading and drinking and he was leaning, exhausted, against the couch pillows, contemplating the fire and all the fucked-up-ness that was his existence. These were the only moments it happened, at first. She came, she lingered, only seconds probably, and she left. And he never turned around, had never seen her, but he knew. And it had unsettled him. Then it happened in the kitchen as well. He had been cutting something and suddenly he felt the closeness of her body and the tickle of her breath in his neck and then it was gone. It happened in other places as well, but never in his room. She didn't dare. And he never asked, not wanting to know the answer really.

He is standing by the window now, drinking and staring into the darkness outside. Jeremy is out with Bonnie, however that has happened again, and Stefan is out as well, probably hunting or brooding, he doesn't really care. Elena is somewhere in this house, but he has stopped listening for her footsteps and her heartbeat a long time ago. It's of no use. When he tries to talk to her, she doesn't answer, at least never more elaborately than with yes or no and it frustrates him. He should leave, he knows he should, but he can't. When he stands in front of his closet, his hands won't move to pack, when he's sitting in his car, heading for the highway - packing be damned - his foot slowly lifts off the accelerator until he finally comes to a stand somewhere between Mystic Falls and not Mystic Falls but never far enough and he sits there, pitying his own stupidity and inability, until he finally drives back home. He shakes his head. It is all so damn pathetic; and at the same time he doesn't want it any other way because any other way would mean without her and that sounds even more pathetic, after all. He feels it again then, the slight breeze that comes from the undetectably fast movement and then the feeling of someone standing right behind him. And he doesn't know why, but this time his hand shoots behind him and grabs her wrist. He hears her surprised yelp, before he spins around to fixate her with his eyes. There she is, her big brown eyes wide from shock, tugging at her hand, trying to free it from his grip, as if running away now could make it seem like she had never been there.

"What are you doing?" he asks, not releasing his grip on her in the slightest. She can take it now, he knows. She doesn't reply, only keeps struggling hopelessly.

"Elena," he says resolutely, demanding her attention. "I feel you, every time. What are you doing?" He stares at her, unmercifully, demanding an explanation. She looks just as desperate to get away as she did a second ago. But something new has crept into her eyes, something like astonishment.

"You do?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smirks at her. "Oh please. I invented that particular type of vampire creepiness." He then thinks better of it and relents: "Fine, I probably didn't. Someone like Elijah probably did. But I perfected it. And you, Missy, are very sloppy."

She looks at him, terrified. But not of him, he thinks, but of the fact that he knew. "Interesting," he continues his monologue as she seems unwilling to participate in their conversation. "You thought I didn't. Why do you do it?" She has stopped struggling and simply stares at him and he thinks it safe to let go of her hand now. He is wrong. As soon as his grip releases her wrist, she is gone. But he's older and faster and he has her pinned to the floor before she can reach the hallway. "Tsk tsk tsk," he chides. "What did you think that would accomplish?" She looks around frantically, until, finally, she gives in and becomes still. One of his hands is pushing against the floor next to her side, the other next to her head, his knee shoved in between hers, not really touching her anywhere, but not allowing her to move either. Her eyes drop down, as if ashamed. "What's going on, Elena?" he asks, softer now, wanting to understand.

"I just wanted to know," she finally speaks, her voice barely audible. "What it would be like… to be so close to you."

He feels his heartbeat quicken at her words. "What is it like?" he asks, his voice raspy now.

She hesitates, just staring at him, battling with herself. "Exhilarating," she finally says, giving in. A tear escapes her eye and rolls down her temple. It hurts Damon to think that this realization pains her. He lifts his hand as if to wipe the tear away, but then brings it to her chin instead, turning her head only slightly before leaning down. His lips press softly against her skin, making the salty drop burst and disappear. He hears her breath hitch in her throat and then he feels her hands closing around his, holding it against her chest. "I'm sorry," she whispers, another tear escaping her eyes now and then another, too many to kiss away. "I know I said I'd let you go." Yes, she had said that. And still Damon hasn't been able to make himself leave, is lying here now, on top of her, again leaving his heart out in the open for her to trample all over it. Won't she please? "And I'm sorry that I can't," she says, tears still welling up in her eyes. Her one hand stays with his, wraps around it even more tightly, hooking their fingers together and clasping it against her chest, while her other hand lifts up to his face tentatively and pushes a few stray hairs from his forehead with shaking fingers. "I'm sorry for being so selfish," she continues, her voice wet from swallowed tears, her palm sliding down his cheek slowly. "I remember everything," she finally says, or rather breathes, and it hits him suddenly, that of course she would. Those two moments that he had prayed would never be known to anyone, the two moments in his life he had felt the most vulnerable and the two moments in his life he has wished desperately she could remember while at the same time praying she never would. And now it's his eyes that fall away from hers and seek refuge in a spot on the floor. "Why did you make me forget?" she asks and he's not sure he can explain it in a way that will not make her mad.

"It wouldn't have made a difference," he says, defeated.

"Maybe it would have," she argues, almost something like hope or encouragement in her voice.

He shakes his head. "It was just for me," he explains. "I had to tell you just once, look into your eyes and say it, but I couldn't deal with your pity." He says it almost accusingly and he knows it's unfair to accuse her of something he only ever anticipated but he can't stop himself. She just nods, sadly, understanding but hurting at the same time.

"I met you first," she then says, running her fingers through his hair, her voice full of regret and loss.

Now it is he who nods sadly. "Wouldn't have made a difference either," he says, knowing that in the weeks since that fateful phone call, he himself has wondered many times if it might have, but he has come to the conclusion that probably, no; he would have been stupid enough back then to mess it up.

"Maybe it would have," she says again, as if she is willing him to see the truth behind her words. And he can't do anything but shut his eyes and try to calm down. He shakes his head as much in defeat as in the negation of her words. He can feel her stir underneath him, tentatively, and then he can feel her cheek against his jaw and her nose against his neck, hesitantly, lingering, and then inhaling deeply. She lets her nose trail along his sensitive skin, barely touching, and he realizes: she has never been this close to him since she turned and her senses must be flooded, from that simple headshake alone, with his scent. She can smell the Bourbon he's been drinking, the leather he's been wearing, a hint of the cologne he splashed on, hours ago, in the back, his shampoo. And underneath it all his skin. 'Damon' her brain registers and her synapses fire memories at her. Memories of when she has held him and memories of when he has carried her.

And then suddenly he feels it, the soft press of her lips against his and it is so unexpected and so glorious, he can't react at first. It's not like the last time they kissed, which was frantic and full of lust and desire and borne out of - he doesn't know - inner struggle and curiosity probably. This is tender and more like a promise than a question. And he doesn't want to - knows that he shouldn't - respond to it, but he does finally, and pushes back with his lips and with his whole body. She lets go of his hand then and wraps her arm around his waist, pulling him closer, her hand pressing into his lower back, demanding proximity. He frees his hand from between their bodies, allowing their chests to fully collide and sinks it into her long, soft hair, grabbing it and holding her in place, deepening the kiss. Her free leg rises lightly next to him, her thigh caressing his through their jeans, enticing him to push down against her. A gasp wants to escape her mouth as she feels his erection press against her center but can't because he swallows it with a kiss. He feels her grow increasingly excited now, can feel the rushing blood under his finger tips and her fluttering heart against his chest. Her kisses become more demanding and her grip more desperate, as she clings to his clothes and the flesh beneath them. And suddenly she's on top of him and he can see dark veins circle her eyes. And just as suddenly they're gone and a look of pure astonishment spreads over her face. She looks down at him straightening up, straddling his waist, her butt alluringly resting on his erection. And then she giggles lightly.

"I just turned you over," she says and because he understands what she means, he smiles at her proudly.

"That you did," he confirms, intrigued by the sudden flash of a mischievous grin that's shooting across her features. And then, with superhuman speed, she grabs his hands and pushes them above his head, holding them in place there. He grins. The zipper of her jeans is scraping against his as she angles her hips to lean down, slowly, her long hair falling down around their heads, enveloping them until they see only each other. Her breasts are pushing against his chest with each breath. He can see the twinkle in her eye.

"Looks like I'm super strong now," she states playfully. "No more manhandling me." And with that she closes the distance between their lips and kisses him again, not as careful as last time and not as hungrily as the first but languidly, relishing the feeling of his lips on hers, his tongue entwined with hers, slowly and deliberately exploring each other. And suddenly she's under him again, blinking up at him in surprise, her own hands pinned above her head now.

"You sure about that?" he murmurs into her ear and he can feel the shiver that runs through her body. "I am still older and stronger than you."

"Not fair," she wants to protest but it comes out more like a sigh than a complaint as he leaves a trail of kisses down her neck. She turns her head to give him full access while pushing her ankles against his hips, pulling him against her. He groans, she is so amazing and he has wanted to do just this for so long.

With one quick movement, she frees her hands from his. He may be stronger than her, but it's not like it was before. She is no longer fragile or powerless, she can defend herself and she can play. And as much as it frustrates him, he knows that it's usually the most frustrating of her traits that he loves the most. She brings both hands down to his belt, quickly opening it while turning her face to him, kissing him again. And he suddenly finds it all very fast and while normally he has no objections to moving fast, whatsoever, this is Elena.

"Wait," he says and might as well have smacked himself over the head. But he has to ask. "What are you doing?" And he knows that stopping in this situation and asking these important questions is a bad mistake, knows this from experience. But he is who he is and he has to ask.

She looks up at him, doe-eyed, her pupils dilated, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks just as red, her hair ruffled, single strands falling across her forehead, the rest fanned out all around her, gloriously, her lids slightly heavy, and her breathing quick. He thinks he has never seen her look so beautiful, thinks he might never have seen anything more beautiful than her right now. Not the sunrise over Paris, watching from the steps of the Sacré-Cœur, not the endless, untouched beaches on the eastern side of Hainan, not the sun reflecting off the snow glistening on treetops in the woods of northern Canada, nothing; just her, beneath him. But he has to ask.

"I want to sleep with you," she says and she sounds so pure in her request.

"Why?" he asks, being the masochist that he is.

"I want to know what it's like," she says, running a finger along his jaw. And he tenses. He knew he shouldn't have asked but now that he got his answer, he can't pretend he doesn't care. He pushes himself up, trying to get away from her.

"Ask Rebekah," he spits venomously, wanting to hurt her, wanting to leave but she won't let him do either. Her legs hold him in place; her hand grabs his neck, making him look at her. She shakes her head.

"No," she says, determination in her eyes now. "Not the sex. Being one with you. I don't think Rebekah can tell me that." And he relents, staying in place, unable to keep fighting. No, she wouldn't be able to tell her that, that much is true. And there he goes again, submitting to her, like he always does, at least when it comes to matters of his heart. Because he knows taking what he can get and dealing with the pain is better than getting nothing. She is looking at him now, waiting for him to agree and to keep going.

"Have you slept with Stefan since you turned?" he asks and he knows he sounds like a jealous boyfriend but it's not what he means. She looks at him with a questioning, uncertain look, probably thinking the same thing, but she slowly shakes her head, still waiting. "It's not the same," he says by way of an explanation.

"What do you mean?" she asks and yes, he wants to explain but at the same time she's making it very hard by clinging to his hips with her unreasonably long legs.

"Being a vampire, it'll be different. Everything's different, right?" She nods again and he keeps going. "It's more intense. You will feel more intensely. You probably already do. Right now." And she nods again and it's really tugging at his willpower to see her say yes to that question and not ravish her right then and there. "I just want you to know. What you're asking. And what you'll get." She nods again and then he feels her hand in his neck pull a little, demanding he close the distance between them again and because he's only a man and because he's also a vampire and he, too, feels everything more intensely, he does and he kisses her again and with newfound purpose because now he knows what'll happen next.

He doesn't hear it at first, too absorbed in her and her kisses, but when it's close enough, he realizes what it is: the rolling of tires on gravel. And he can't believe his horrible luck, for one second he even contemplates kidnapping Elena to his room so that they can continue there but he knows that the walls are too thin and witchy is returning the littlest Gilbert from their date and therefore his playtime is over. Life is cruel like that. Always has been. He stops kissing her and she looks at him surprised at first, but then she hears it too, hears the car coming to a halt and the soft, muffled giggles and then the opening and closing doors. He is upright in an instant and then pulls her up as well and before she can say anything, he is gone, up the stairs, because he can't handle sitting in the parlor right now and smiling at the kid who has incredibly cock-blocked him twice now.

But, really, Bonnie and Jeremy are the least of their troubles now, because only about a half an hour after them, Stefan returns as well, Tyler in tow. And, turns out, he is not Tyler, which, now that Damon thinks about it, explains a fucking lot. And it also explains why Stefan has been gone so much lately. Because he has been consorting with the originals and has been preparing, which they had told Damon wasn't possible. And he feels betrayed again, but it doesn't sting as much now because he has gotten used to it. And they tell him of that new evil thing that is coming and, because he is a man and suffering from horrible blue balls, he is only half-concentrating, concentrating enough to know what he will have to do, but not enough to actually get into the details. The next week is spent with preparation, because suddenly there's actually a lot they can do to prepare and suddenly they are all involved and suddenly time does matter again and there is none left for a possible repeat of his all too short tussle on the carpet with Elena and he is getting more and more pissed off. Which is good, he guesses. Anger and sexual frustration have always helped him in the big fights.

It is the night before summer solstice, which is the night that the big showdown will happen because apparently certain evil spirits can draw a lot of energy from the sun, especially on that day. And they are all prepared, having worked out, having manufactured weapons, having fed, having gone over every plan, plan B and contingency plan twice and all they can do now is rest and not get drunk, which is Damon's least favorite part of everything.

He is in his room, he has taken his shower and he is lying on his bed in his jeans, comfortable enough to sleep, should sleep come to him, but ready to go, should the big evil decide to get a head-start on the fighting. He stares out the window at the grey sky, not light anymore but not quite dark yet, wondering if he will survive tomorrow, if any of them will.

Elena is standing in front of his door. Waiting. She's not sure for what. He can probably hear her, because she can hear him, his even breaths and his slow heartbeat. Yet, it takes her a while before she can muster up the courage to actually knock on the door.

"Come in," comes his answer when she finally does and so she pushes down the handle, closes the heavy door behind her again, before she looks at him. He is lying on his bed, eyeing her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. One arm is behind his head, the other resting on his stomach, which, to her delight, is naked, since he is not wearing a shirt, only low-cut jeans. His legs are crossed. He is not moving an inch, only watching her, his eyes sparkling in the twilight.

"Hi," she says, standing in doorway, not yet daring to move.

"Hi," he returns, clearly waiting for an explanation as to why she is here. She moves then, slowly, so that he can intervene should he want to, which he doesn't, only following her with his eyes as she takes careful steps towards the bed. She comes to stand next to him, his eyes looking up at her, half warily, half expectantly. She leans over and crawls onto the bed, sitting next to him, not touching him, but watching him carefully.

"So, tomorrow," she starts but doesn't finish.

"Big fight," he nods, still not moving.

"Do you know how people say 'what would you do, if you had only one day to live?'" she asks. He only nods. "What would you do, if you had only one day to live?" she repeats, but he knows that she is asking him now. He is quiet for a while, probably considering her question.

"I would do anything I could to make it more than one," he replies finally. And she had expected as much.

"What if there was nothing you could do?" she asks.

"I don't know," he replies. "I am immortal."

"You almost died once," she argues. And it is true. He had been certain that he was going to die then.

"Well, I spent that day exactly as I wanted to," he replies and he looks at her with soft eyes now that are like a caress and she wishes he would caress her with his hands, too.

"What about now?" she asks; her voice breathy both from uncertainty and excitement.

"What about you?" he returns the question and she thinks that maybe he does it because he can't be the one to lay it on the line anymore and he needs her to be the one to do it just once. And she also thinks that if that isn't the case and he has simply changed his mind, that there is a big chance that they might both die tomorrow and at least then her embarrassment won't last as long.

"I would want to spend it with you," she says, staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "Preferably in bed," she adds, because she figures what the hell, she can be bold now, all or nothing. And then, to her relief, his guarded expression cracks a little and a smile spreads across his lips.

"Is that so?" he asks, still smiling, and it is an honest smile, a happy smile, one she hasn't seen often because he never feels happy enough to smile like that and it makes her almost giddy to see it. Because she now has butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach, she can only nod and smile back. And then his lips are on hers suddenly, his hand in her hair, and he is flipping her over just as suddenly and when she can collect her thoughts enough to know this, she starts to giggle and wraps her arm around his neck to hold him in place. "Naughty, Miss Gilbert," he purrs. "I'd have pegged you for more of a watch the sunset and reminisce kind of gal."

"Well, you have left me no choice," she playfully complains. "You've been so busy and now the sun has already set."

"What a shame," he returns; kissing her behind her ear and to his delight she shivers slightly.

"Not really," she admits; her voice husky now. He lifts his head, his eyes locking with hers and like always, she feels she could drown in them, would do it happily, if he let her. She knows what this is; this is his way of giving her an out; of not asking the question, but giving her an opportunity to answer it. And she thinks it's very chivalrous of him, but also a bit lame because she was the one who came in here after all and had to pretty much seduce him. And yes, fine, she hasn't been all sexy kitten, skimpy lingerie, pouty lips seductive like most women he's with probably are, but she has been pretty clear about what she wants anyways and in any case, he shouldn't question it now. And so she gives him the last bit of reassurance he needs and lifts her head ever so slightly to press her lips against his. And then he's not careful anymore, doesn't question whether she really wants this, doesn't wonder if this is a good idea because, hell, it's the best idea he's heard in a long time and he kisses her back ferociously.

She is glad that he is already not wearing a shirt and runs her fingers down his chest exploratively, cataloguing every rise and dip of muscle along her way until she reaches the waistband of his jeans and suddenly she can feel goose bumps spread across his skin which excite her, because she knows he's not cold. He is not as ripped as Stefan is – and thank God for it – but more ripped than Matt and they are all she can compare him to but she is fairly certain that he must be the most beautiful man on earth. She can feel his taught, powerful muscles tense under his skin and the flat expanse of his stomach press against hers but when she grabs him, his skin is pliable and soft against her fingertips and it makes her never want to let go. He is tugging on her nightgown now and she has to let him go so he can pull it over her head but her fingers find his strong arms again, immediately, and then his chest collides with hers, both naked now. It's crazy, but it feels like coming home. She has never felt so right, so secure before in her life.

And it is true, what he said: It feels different. When he touches her, it feels like all her nerve endings concentrate in that one spot and they shoot pleasure signals up her spine and into her head relentlessly. She feels her body focus on his warm hand on her hip, where he grabs her possessively and pulls her against him. Then she feels the focus shift to her shoulder where he kisses her, his lips hotter than they can actually be and it feels like he instinctively knows all the right spots to turn her on or maybe her vampire body has no wrong spots anymore, she can't be sure. Then the focus shifts again to her arm, where his fingers trail along her skin lazily, leaving behind a sense of being touched that lingers and won't go away. And now Elena feels like she is in overdrive. Emotionally, sensually, everything is heightened and she feels closer to him, both physically and spiritually, than she has ever felt to anyone, even though he is still wearing his jeans. And also, why is he still wearing his jeans? Her mind can clear enough of the fog away to move her hands down to his belt and unbuckle it. Then she is pushing his pants down, with her hands at first and then with her feet, impatiently, and it makes him chuckle, a chuckle that makes his chest vibrate against hers and his breath tickle behind her ear and it makes her moan. And she knows there are enough people in this house who can probably hear them and shouldn't but they might die tomorrow and she just doesn't care enough. Suddenly they are naked against each other, completely naked, and it is new and very exciting, but not intimidating, not like most first naked encounters are because she trusts him unconditionally. And she has probably thought and said that before, but she has never understood it until now. Her trust now is not a feeling, it is a fact. She is safe, naked under the body of this predator. She is liberated under his hungry gaze and empowered by his strong hold on her.

And suddenly she's on top of him again, smirks at him with glinting eyes and he smirks back, a little proud that this woman can be this way around him. Most women are intimidated by him or they are reckless, losing themselves in the thrill of it all. Not Elena. She is present, body, mind and soul and what had been there before, her hesitations, her doubts, her regrets, are all gone and he feels like he is _with_ someone for the first time in a very long time. Not there at the same time as someone else, but there together, engaged, connected.

The flicks of her tongue across his nipple are electrifying, but they are also probing, trying to elicit a response, to learn about his body. And she is very pleased with the reaction she gets, the slight jump, the quiet hiss, the subtle bend in his spine. Slowly, she moves further away from his beautiful eyes that watch her intensely. She is kissing his stomach, biting it a little even, but only with blunt teeth, only to pull a little on his skin and test its elasticity. And after each bite she licks the spot, blowing on it soothingly. But there's nothing soothing about it, it all turns him on and she can feel it; his arousal is nudging her belly at first, then her chest, then it is only inches from her mouth and she can feel the heat radiating against her neck and she can see the anticipation in his eyes. When she finally lets her lips close around him and sink down, slowly, teasingly, his hips buck involuntarily. But she is strong now and she can hold him in place. A growl escapes his throat and his hands sink into her long, disheveled hair, encouraging her and she moves faster, pressing her tongue against his heated, taut skin for added friction and the moan she gets in return is delicious. It gives her an incredible sense of power, to have this man, the strongest man she knows, shiver under her fingertips and quiver against her lips. To know, that he is many times her age and has many times her experience and yet it is she who can make him submit to her touch and who gives him pleasure that provokes a tremor in his leg. She seizes his balls in her hand, massaging them firmly, pushing him further. He is close, she can hear it in his breathing and feel it in the clench of his fingers. And she wants it, wants to give him this, at least, at last, after having made him wait for everything forever. She changes the pace, focuses on his head, swirling her tongue, kissing, licking, nibbling with her lips, until suddenly the world shifts and she is under him again.

Her eyes stare up at him, two black pools now, pupils blown wide with lust and wonder. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is mussed, clinging to her forehead, her lips are deliciously swollen and her breath hitches as she waits, expectantly.

His whole body is buzzing; she can feel the energy spark off his flexed arms and his pumping chest. A slight sheen of sweat is coating his skin and makes him glisten in the moonlight that is now falling through the window. He is drinking her in, imprinting the image, committing every tiny detail to memory, unable to really grasp that she is lying under him, offering herself up to him, wholly.

"Damon," she whispers and stretches a hand out, tracing the lines of his face, his lips, almost reverently, like she, too, is overwhelmed.

He bends down, kissing her, making sure, again and again that she is there. Her lips are still amazingly hot and more indulgent now, plump but yielding to the pressure of his, soft, elastic, and he would kill or die to feel them on him again. He trails a slow hand down her body, blindly caressing her collarbone, following the curve of her breasts, worshipping the round, supple mounds and the hardened, demanding peaks with his fingertips, ghosting over the silky skin of her belly, eliciting shivers and moans. His lips leave hers now, tasting the smooth skin of her jawline next, and then kissing behind her ear, making her shudder underneath him wonderfully.

"I want to come… inside you," he whispers into her ear and at the last word he dips his fingers and pushes one inside her, slowly, for emphasis. Now it is she, who can't help the moan that escapes her. And then, it is his mouth that explores her body, inch by inch, while drawing lazy circles over her clit with his thumb, achingly slow. She finds it amazing how he touches her. Not just touching as in putting your hand on someone else, but touching in a way that makes her skin tingle and feel at ease at the same time. A good touch; firm and determined, confident in the body it is touching and in his claim to it. Like there was nothing anyone or anything could do to come between them. When he reaches her pelvic bone and the small scar she has there from an appendectomy a few years back - back when appendectomies were the worst things that could happen to you - he kisses that scar carefully, before lifting his head and letting his eyes wander over her naked body until they meet hers.

"You are perfect," he says, bending down to kiss the scar again and Elena wants to cry because she knows that that blemish is probably the only thing that physically distinguishes her from Katherine now. But instead of tears comes another flash and another moan, as she feels his lips press against her clit in a warm kiss, like an introduction and a promise of more kisses in the future. And then she no longer feels his lips but his tongue and it is even better and she cries out quietly. He's caressing her with his tongue, slowly but purposefully and while her body has been sparking at every touch before, jumping its focus from one point to the next, it is all pooled in one place now, her stomach tensing impossibly, sweat forming at her lower back, each flick of his tongue sending another wave up her body; waves of heat that roll through her chest and subside in her arms, the small ball of pressure building deep inside her. He inserts a finger, then two, stroking her inside walls. It feels perfect, but it's not what she wants. It's too distant, it's not him.

She pushes herself up, suddenly. She sits in his lap, straddling him, her arms clutching his shoulders, her eyes wide, met with equally wide eyes. She looks at him, waiting to arrive in the moment, waiting for the dizziness to let up, wanting to soak up his face as she lets herself sink onto his erection, slowly, until they are really one. And it's a platitude but she feels it is true none the less. His arms close around her, holding her perfectly tight, pressing her against him and as he starts to move, his head dips, his lips descending on her neck and then her breasts, kissing and nibbling and making pleasure shoot from every part of her body at once. She can feel his movements getting more urgent now, can feel his hip pressing into hers more forcefully with every stroke. And she can feel her body respond, can feel her insides heating and tensing until suddenly she feels the veins around her eyes tingle and her jaw tighten, the signs of her vampire features appearing. His fingers are on her chin then, making her look at him and she can see the same dark web spread around his eyes. She lets her fingers glide across it tenderly.

"Bite me," she hears him say and without questioning it, she sinks her lips down to his neck, feeling him twitch inside her from excitement at her acquiescence. "Here," he says, indicating his shoulder and she moves her lips there, slowly, sweeping them across his quivering muscles, licking at the spot once, feeling a shiver run down his spine and with his next thrust, she bites down. She can hear him moan, can feel him grab her more tightly, probably bruising her skin. She can feel him thrust with even more intensity and can feel the need for release inside her build even further. But those are all external, physical feelings, she can feel so much more now: she can feel him swim through her with every draw she takes from the wound, can feel his essence spread inside her and she clings to him never wanting to let him go. Then she feels something external again, his lips on her shoulder and she understands now why he made her move. And he kisses her first and then scrapes his fangs across the heated skin carefully, before he, too, bites down, his teeth piercing her skin. It only hurts one second and then she feels the pull, feels him take hold of her in yet another way. Everything she has rushing towards him. And it is too intense and she can't hold on any longer and she explodes, suddenly, dislodging her mouth from his shoulder so she can cry out, her arms and legs clutching him, her body pushing against his uncontrollably a few times. She feels him shudder as well and he crushes her against his chest forcefully before she feels him pump inside her, sending a few last waves of pleasure through her body before they both relax. She feels weak now, watery, boneless, could simply slump down in his arms from emotional exhaustion, but he holds her securely and lowers her onto the bed carefully. She keeps her arms wrapped around his shoulders, reluctant to let him go but she does, eventually, and he sinks down onto the bed beside her, his face turned towards her, looking at her. Wondering what will happen now.

"You were right," she finally says into the darkness and then turns towards him. "That was different. I mean, sex as a vampire, it's different." He gives her a curt smile and an agreeing nod in response. "But that's not it," she continues, rolling over completely now and pushing herself up so her face is hovering above his, her hand resting on his chest. "Sex with you is very, very different." And she leans down and kisses him and he kisses her back, lovingly, she thinks, and relieved, but maybe she imagines it. "You were tender with me," she then says and she says it in a teasing tone that makes him quirk an eyebrow at her. "I was expecting handcuffs or some spanking maybe."

"There was biting," he offers cause for reconsideration. But she only laughs in return.

"That was tender, too," she remarks playfully and as if to prove it, she bites his chest lightly.

"I was going gentle on you, first time and all," he defends himself teasingly. "I'll be sure to include some roughhousing next time."

"Next time, huh?" she says, suddenly serious again, and looks up at him with big, questioning eyes.

"Next time," he confirms and captures her lips in a strong, reaffirming kiss.

"We are probably going to die tomorrow," Elena reasons, when they separate their lips.

"Yeah, probably," he agrees, running his fingers over her face, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"At least I can die without regrets this time," she says, lowering her head to kiss his chest and then rest on it, right above his heart.

"Speaking of, we should get started on this next time then. Wouldn't want you to leave this earth not fully satisfied." And with that he turns them again so that he is lying on top of her, nuzzling her neck.

She has to giggle, despite herself, wondering how he always does that; making her smile under the most dire circumstances. And so she grabs him, never wanting to let him go.

* * *

_A/N: I'm a nervous wreck now. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. xoxo_


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